


Slipping

by mandalora



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (and without context tbh), F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandalora/pseuds/mandalora
Summary: And he could weep for the fact that he can never have her fully. But he will mourn that later.Or not at all. This, here, is good. This is good enough for him.
Relationships: Darth Maul/Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	Slipping

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes......... you gotta pörn
> 
> just a quick thing to scratch an itch

She’s so _tender._

Soft, unmarred flesh. Delicate skin.

A couple of scars here and there, obligatory with the kind of lives they lead, but only superficial, and around the upper arms and shoulders.

Below, she’s tender as a lamb.

Ahsoka can’t seem to decide whether to attempt to hold composure or lean back against him and relax; she flits between the two and manages neither, stuck somewhere in the middle in a quivering mess.

She’s quiet. Or trying to be—unaccustomed to such events, flustered from her own reactions, unsure of how much to expose. But her body says it all and more, and the breaths she can’t control jump and tremble just as her thighs do.

Maul thinks, he’ll make her cry out, hear how her voice changes in fits of pleasure—another time. For now, these strings of little gasps content and endear him.

He circles her clit, pushes his fingers through the warm wetness, slides them closer over the entrance. That earns him a sharp inhale, then a clenching of her grip on his kneeplates.

Last time, they didn’t get that far. He thinks it luring to take it gradually, drag it out. 

He can’t say with certainty if he could maintain such control had he been whole and his libido intact; perhaps he’d be long buried within her by this point. That, at least, makes for the one and only benefit of his condition.

He runs his fingers over her entrance again, pauses there to feel the pooling of wetness. Ahsoka takes another sharp breath, arches her back as if in a half-hearted inclination to scramble away but only ends up pressing tighter against his chest.

She hungrily gulps air. “Maul—”

Maul circles his fingertips over the same spot. “Hmm?”

The lekku cover most of her face at this angle, but he can still see enough to make out the deep flush of her cheeks. He smiles, leans in to ghost the tip of his nose over the smooth stripes of white and blue.

She smells of sex. He wonders if she cognizes it.

He drinks it in deep, and it’s almost as if it’s something entirely new. Such details of his past life he barely remembers, the details of whores in Pre Vizsla’s tents he wasn’t particularly interested in. Ahsoka’s scent is... slight, gently musky and almost tentative in its softness, and Maul leans even closer to really familiarize himself with it, with all the nuances of this vulnerability he is absolutely certain no one else ever got a chance to see.

Before he knows it he’s trailing and sucking kisses along her lek, enjoying himself for a moment or two longer than necessary, and when her breaths sharpen and quicken he slips off and moves to place a firm kiss on her shoulder instead.

Ahsoka forcibly cuts off a blossoming whimper— _what a sweet thing_ —and it falls as choked-out frustration. “Maul—”

Maul kisses her shoulder once more, and presses his fingers in, just a little. Ahsoka bucks her hips slightly and he hums into the crevice between her shoulder and lek. 

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Ahsoka’s fingers clench even tighter on the edges of his kneeplates.

“I’m not—” She gasps gently when Maul returns the attention to her clit with his thumb, but then tries to get hold of her voice, swallowing. “—your sweetheart.”

Maul hides his half-grin against her shirt, thinks about teasing her— _well, my dear, that remains to be seen_ —but ultimately lets her have this one.

Even if only for a moment.

“Sweetheart,” he insists, kisses the lek at her eye level, and then she shudders and grows _wetter._

There’s a vague sound of indignation or frustration (or both) falling from her lips, and she rolls her head back slightly, likely unintentionally, and Maul uses the moment to push his finger deeper and finally breach her.

Ahsoka whines from deep within her throat. Her legs jerk in an instinctive attempt to close them, but Maul grabs onto her thigh with his free hand and holds it back, shushing gently as he works his finger in and—Force.

How warm and slick and smooth, how easily he slides in like he belongs there, how she arches her back as if to simultaneously pull away and push his hand in further.

She whimpers, helpless with the slipping control and reluctance to let herself go. And it’s merely another few moments until she’s perfectly ready for more; she gasps and rasps out his name again when another finger joins the first. Maul works her open, she struggles to stay afloat amidst waves of potent sensations, and the feeling of her is intoxicating.

And he could weep for the fact that he can never have her fully. But he will mourn that later.

Or not at all. This, here, is good. This is good enough for him.

And he will not rush it. He’ll take it a step at a time, he wants to take her apart piece by piece. He wants to tease her nipples and kiss her neck and watch her soak her smallclothes right through. He wants to taste her, hold her down and feel her writhe against his tongue. He wants to see how she pleasures herself, where her nimble fingers might run. He wants to hear her whisper what she imagines when she thinks of him. 

He wants her, and now he has her.

He wraps his arm around her waist as he crooks his fingers deep inside her, does it again and again when a choked-out, half-formed moan spurs him on. Ahsoka breathes deeply, grabs onto his forearm; digs her fingers into the skin as he pulls her closer and with the quickening of his motions her gasps ramp up as well.

And when her walls start to clench and her thighs start to throb more intensely, as if punctuating his every thrust, he slows and comes to a near still, and then smoothly pulls his hand away.

Ahsoka _whines._

She shoots her hand to her cunt but Maul is quick to swat it away.

“No, no, no,” he purrs, and drops another open-mouthed kiss on her stripes. “I told you, no hands.” 

_“Maul,”_ she grates through heaving breaths, and it might have sounded threatening under different circumstances. “You son of a—”

“Now, now.” Maul turns his hand over, watching how her juices glisten on his fingers. “Let’s be civil here.”

With his other hand he rubs circles into her ribs through her shirt, giving her a moment to simmer down and even out her breathing. He brings his wet hand to eye level, and for a second debates pressing his fingers to her plush lips, see how she likes the taste of herself.

Or perhaps she already knows it full well.

In any case—later. All later.

Ahsoka makes an uncertain sound in the back of her throat, trailing his hand with her eyes as much as she’s able when Maul brings it to his mouth and licks her off his fingers one by one.

It’s everything he’s imagined.

Ahsoka flushes more as she watches him—as well as the angle allows her—and rolls her hips almost on instinct. When she mumbles something, Maul can’t quite hear.

“What was that?” he asks.

She swallows and grips his arm tighter. It’s painful, but he’ll take it any day.

“I won’t know what you need,” Maul says, dipping his voice lower, “if you won’t tell me.”

“No, I…”

“Hm?”

He moves the hand up her body to cup the underside of her breast through the fabric, and her thighs give another impatient jerk.

She swallows again, and then her voice shakes. “Maul—”

“I’m all ears.”

Another low frustrated whine, another arch of her back and unintentional press of her ass against him, and he thinks it fortunate for her that he’s mechanized from the waist down, else his urges would be much, much harder to keep in check.

“Please,” Ahsoka finally squeezes out when the wait gets too much. “Just—”

When that isn’t enough and she hears no response, she lets out a tortured sigh and sinks back against him.

“Touch me,” she finally whispers, and swallows. “Please.”

Maul smiles, brings his hand to her inner thigh and begins a slow slide down.

“See?” he says. “You need only ask.” 

He pecks her on the shoulder, and begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like maul would just edge her into oblivion always


End file.
